Freaks Flock Together
by Kawaii Kitsune Cub
Summary: Welcome to the illegal world of street racing and gambling, where only the tough and the meek can play. Where dreams blow away in the wind, and money rules everything. First J&D fic, so please be kind and read.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the Jak & Daxter video game series, as the rightfully belong to their rightful owners, Naughty Dog... right?  
  
Yes, despite the fact I have not yet finished my first fic (Cumulus Academy) I've started yet another. ^ ^;; Eh, this thing has been bugging me to get written, and once I wrote it way back in December, it kept nagging me to post it. I think I may be able to write this out while writing Cumulus academy; however, since the chapters are shorter than what I usually write and it's a fresh breath of air from my magic, undead-killing, school. Besides, I'm rather fond of the game Jak 2; I've beaten it already, and it's originally my sister's game. But, once again I'm rambling, so just skip ahead and read.  
  
* * *  
  
The moon shone brightly above the crowded streets of Haven city - well, as brightly as it could through all the air and light pollution - as the night dragged on among the ragged streets and the even more ragged citizens. But there was one section where the roads were being carefully blocked off, and the young and daring were preparing to shake off the silence of the humdrum metropolis life that surrounded them.  
  
They thought they were rebels. Every single one of those young men and women thought they were hot stuff, the newest tough guy in town, and that they were unbeatable.  
  
It was pathetic.  
  
So he waited and watched, from his high-up perch upon the balcony of a rickety old building. He sniggered as each teen revved up the engine of his or her customized zoomer, each trying to outdo the other, as if such a matter was important. But deep down, even though he pretended to hate the idea, he thought it would be bliss if all that really mattered in the world was how fast you were. Because if you were fast, you won the money; if you were fast, you won respect; and if you were fast, you would never be caught. Welcome to the high-stakes world of street racing. A world he had been ordered to infiltrate and disperse. Man, he hated Torn and his stupid missions.  
  
Sighing, Jak leaned back and tapped the shoulder of the sleeping ottsel, who was precariously balanced just above the rear thrusters of the small, one-person zoomer. "Hey, Dax. Dax, wake up." Jak's furry sidekick turned over on his other side, and made a shooing motion with his gloved paw. "don't wanna..."  
  
"C'mon Dax. It's getting late." The dark-Eco-experiment's voice was quiet pleading, and one of Daxter's ears flicked back in recognition. "...I don't wanna go to work, Tess..." At this, Jak incoherently grumbled something and went for a more direct approach to wake up his long-time friend. "Wow... look at all those skimpily-dressed young women..."  
  
"Wha? Where?!" Daxter immediately sprung up and scurried up on top of Jak's head, scanning the streets below for said women. Upon hearing his perch's chuckle, he glared down into the pair of clear blue eyes and slowly replied, "Sometimes, I really hate you. You know that, right?"  
  
Jak shrugged, almost causing Daxter to lose his balance upon his head. "You took this job, so you better stay awake."  
  
"I thought there would be more excitement... something to pass the time with." The ottsel jumped from Jak's head to the streamlined windshield of the parked zoomer, sulking as he did so. "I hate to admit it, but it's been boring ever since we brought down good ol' Kor and Baron Praxis."  
  
"So the reluctant soldier is looking for some action, hm?" the driver smirked, something he rarely did, and turned his attention back to the loud crowd of young adults. There were quite a few shady characters lurking around the mob of rowdy racers and mechanics, but none of them was his target. Not one was the racer Jak was searching for.  
  
"I got to hand it to ya', Jak... there is no way we're gonna catch this guy." Daxter was once again perched upon his friend's shoulder, watching a group of zoomers line up with mild intrest. The four drivers jeered at each other, and money was passed around as bets were called. Their vehicles were brightly painted, gaudily standing out among the dull street, and the headlights of the other parked zoomers lit up the track, as loud rock music pulsated throughout the air- its source was a customized 4-seater. But everything seemed to come to a screeching halt as a fifth driver pulled up among the line of racers. His zoomer, a small one-seater, was a dark burgundy color; the trim was a metallic copper. The driver himself was wearing a long leather jacket, but not much else besides his dark hair could be seen from Jak's viewpoint. Sensing a pivotal change of his night, Jak started the engine and watched the starting line intently, his foot ready to slam on the gas at any moment.  
  
There were a few more lewd jokes tossed in the new driver's way, but everything soon settled down and a skimpily dressed, young woman strutted onto the bridge that crossed above the road. Confidently smiling, she raised one hand high above her head, the numerous headlights reflecting off of the cherry-red polish, and dramatically dropped it down. In a single roar, all five racers charged ahead, forming a tightly knit pack.  
  
"Hold on Dax," Jak muttered, taking a second to make sure the ottsel was secure before pushing his foot down on the gas pedal. His own zoomer zipped ahead, and he was propelled off of the balcony and into the dirty streets below. Just in front of him were the racers, all of them fighting their way out of the tightly packed group, each just a blur of color high above the hard ground. To his surprise, when the pack did disperse, one of the drivers dropped down, skimming just above the street at an insane speed.  
  
The other four stayed high, fighting for the lead, while the lone zoomer ate up the track, its driver recklessly steering it around potholes and lone pedestrians. Jak stayed behind, just enough so as not to be suspected, and kept a close eye on the race participants.  
  
Whoever had mapped out the track had to have been insane. It weaved throughout the slums; hair-pin turns, buildings that suddenly loomed up out of the smoke exhaust of the other's engines, and a regular maze of pillars formed a course that only the most experienced - or lucky- driver could possibly hope to steer through. But, then again, he was one of those drivers; and he was hoping just as much as the others that he wouldn't become another raspberry-colored splotch on the sidewalk, with the flaming remains of the zoomer Kiera had been so gracious to lend him in a heap of twisted metal beside said splotch.  
  
There were only three left now. (The other two riders had somehow managed to crash and explode their vehicles somewhere along the way) Two racers battled for the lead, hoping to ram each other to certain death, while the same driver that had dropped down earlier was narrowly skirting past the front doors of the buildings that lined the one-way street. Jak could feel Daxter's grip begin to cut off the circulation to his lower arm - the ottsel was freakishly strong when such an overdose of adrenaline was surging through his veins - as he followed suit after the trio. It was coming down to the last lap, the final spurt to the finish.  
  
But even as he watched them near the finish line, he could already tell which one of them was his target; which driver was the one Torn had wanted to be brought in - preferably alive. Jak hadn't bothered to stress the KG commander for details; just acquired the necessary information needed to get the job done.  
  
Suddenly, the ground-hugging driver pulled up sharply, surprising both of the drivers that were fighting for the lead so much that they changed their line of sight from the road - and crashed right into a wall that had been masked by the exhaust smoke of the fifth driver's zoomer. The racer turned to the right at the last second, pushing off the wall with one leg as he struggled to regain his vehicle's balance, and Jak followed suit.  
  
The track was coming to an end; he could see the familiar crowd of eager "rebels" by the finish line, and drove his zoomer off to the side, down the backroads of the slums, as the only driver left collected their prize money. He would wait a bit longer, then cut the victorious racer off and take them out of commission. That is, if the Krimzon guard didn't interfere again.  
  
"Er... would you care to tell me what that was about?" Daxter inquired, fixing his mussed fur. The ottsel had released his deathgrip on Jak's sore arm, and was once again cautiously balancing on the zoomer's windshield. "Just making sure it was who we were looking for."  
  
"Oh, like you couldn't tell that from way up over there!" The ottsel pointed a claw at their old post, an old, rundown apartment building, and continued smoothing down his bright orange fur. The zoomer and its two passengers merely floated down the empty street in silence before Jak replied, "I just wanted to make sure he was as good a driver as Torn claimed. It wouldn't do us any good if we grabbed someone who looked like him but sucks at driving. Get what I'm saying?"  
  
"Still not a good enough reason to almost get ourselves killed." Dax snuck back to his regular spot on Jak's shoulder, moody and silent, but soon cocked his head, his eyes widening. "Hey, uh, buddy? I think we better move along before the Guard starts patrolling around here."  
  
Now he could hear them, the klaxon sirens. The flashing red lights reflected off of the shards of glass in a broken window, signaling the hum of the vehicle's engine as it sped off into a smaller street. As they turned a corner onto the main street, the driver and ottsel could hear the revving engines of the crowd's zoomers, each one getting out of the way of the other, as they sped off into the sprawling city in hopes of losing their KG tailgates.  
  
This was what he was waiting for; and as Jak saw each vehicle leave, he quickly took notice of each zoomer's paint job. Lime green four-seater with gold trim, nope; a one-passenger that was bright blue with red stripes, no; another small, one-passenger painted a fluorescent orange, again, nope. When it had seemed the entire painstakingly painted entourage had passed, the entirety of it a blur of colors, he saw the dark burgundy zoomer and driver pass by, and take a sharp turn to the left. Sighing, Jak gunned the motor once again and his zoomer surged forwards.  
  
"Whoa! Jak, Jak! Don't you even think about it!" the ottsel's words were too late; however, as Jak dove straight through the mass of vehicles, and continued straight across to follow his target. Once the sound of the engines had died down a little, Daxter's voice could be clearly heard as he griped, "For all that's good and holy, Jak; Never - and I mean this - never do that EVER AGAIN!" He was about to say more, but the zoomer ahead of them was coming ever closer, and as Jak reached over to grab the rider's arm, the other driver dropped down. Just dropped, like a stone, in a descent that was sure to make him another one of those splotches on the city streets, the same color as his zoomer, and then slammed his foot on the gas and sped ahead.  
  
"Damn!" Jak whispered the swear to himself, and dropped down also, following the driver. It was a strange and dangerous game of tag they played, and the challenging race before had been nothing when it came to the sheer insanity of this course. They were constantly changing driving zones, looping around buildings, skimming just over the heads of civilians, and their target was always just ahead of them, planning out every move in advance. If Daxter hadn't been in the middle of such a chase, he would have called both drivers suicidal and out of their minds; but, considering he had no choice but cling onto his pal's shoulder for dear life, he figured he might as well not say anything to get Jak upset. After all, it wouldn't do him much good if they were to suddenly crash because the driver got distracted now, would it?  
  
They were over the ocean now, near the Naughty Ottsel. But, and perhaps this was his imagination, they seemed to be drawing up closer to the leading driver, and when Jak reached out once again to grab his arm, Daxter lunged forwards as well and clung onto the weather-worn leather jacket their target wore. Said target growled and tried to push them off, tried to separate them before another pillar loomed up out of the ocean mist, hoping the idiot driver and his fuzzy pet clinging onto him would realize that it was certain death if they kept going at this speed.  
  
Silently, he counted out the distance between the iron pillar and themselves, and their own speed. As if by some silent cue, the driver pressed the brake and locked it, one feature on his prized vehicle he probably would never have lived without, turned the zoomer in a barrel roll, the motion jerking not only himself, but also his adversary, off of their zoomers and into the ocean below.  
  
The driver breathed a sigh of relief as his zoomer slowly came to a halt right in front of the gargantuan pillar (the other exploding a brilliant flash of crimson), and separated himself from the young man and ottsel, ready to make his escape.  
  
Then, he remembered he couldn't swim.  
  
...Shit.  
  
Jak hit the water hard, the force driving out the air from his lungs in one sudden exhale, and Daxter went flying off in some other direction. He flailed his arms for a second, then got in a regular pattern and propelled himself to the surface, where he gulped in large amounts of the precious oxygen that his lungs burned for. "Dax? Dax! Where are you?!"  
  
"Over here, and, let me tell you, I'm definitely not liking it!" The ottsel came into view, doggy paddling over to Jak as fast as his short little legs would allow, and leapt out of the water onto his friend's head. After taking a moment to stop shivering, Daxter asked, "Hey, have you seen that guy?" Jak almost stopped treading water in sudden realization of the incident, and growled, "Dammit! Must've gotten away!" then sighed, trying to disperse the anger welling up inside before proceeding to swim back to shore.  
  
He was almost halfway there when something floated by him; at first he tried to push the floating object out of his way, but the material had an odd texture, sort of like... leather... "Hey, what's this?" Daxter hopped off Jak's head and onto the floating thing. After scuttling over to one end, where the person's dark hair shifted in the ocean current, he jumped back in alarm. "Hey, uh, Jak?"  
  
"Hm?" He couldn't really say much else in reply, as he was busy trying to get a good grip on the body, which was, consequently, floating facedown in the water.  
  
"Torn said he wanted this guy alive, right?"  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
Daxter looked down at the body, shuddered, and ran back up onto Jak's shoulder. "Hate to bust yer bubble, but I think he's dead." Jak took a moment to look at the dead (literally) weight in his arms.  
  
".this sucks."  
  
"Couldn't agree with you more. We might as well pull the corpse to shore, and dump it somewhere." The ottsel leaned on his friend's head, tapping his fingers on one of the lens of Jak's goggles, as the young man swam his way back to one of the metal ramps that jutted into the water, dragging himself and the body up that same ramp, and collapsed on the ground in exhaustion. All the while, Daxter was impatiently sitting on the tired man's shoulder. Another example of their infamous, if strange, mutualism: one does all the work, while the other cracks a few jokes along the way.  
  
Jak, finally regaining his breath, turned the body face-up. His eyes widened and he took a step back. Daxter, whom had been loitering on the railing that separated the water from the sidewalk, jumped down and ran over. "What is it?" He looked down at the body and his eyes widened. "Whoa! Holy sheep shit, batman!"  
  
It was a woman.  
  
Her loose shirt and baggy pants, originally worn to disguise her figure from curious onlookers, was soaking wet and clinging to her skin. The long leather jacket had been unbuttoned, and her shoulder-length, purple hair had fallen out of its ponytail. In one ear was an odd sort of earring, which the ottsel recognized as a small spark plug, and a small pistol was strapped in its holster by her waist. But, and this was most amazing of all, she was still breathing. After all that, the damned woman was still alive.  
  
Perhaps Torn wouldn't kill them when they reported back.  
  
* * *  
  
Don't worry, I plan on updating another chapter soon. I just want to clear this up before you guys start verbally attacking me:  
  
This is not going to be a Jak/OC fic in any way, shape, or form. In my opinion, Jak already has enough trouble with the whole Jak/ Kiera/ Ashelin triangle going on there. Not to mention his numerous fangirls, who would kill me if I took their precious goat-boy away from them. (pfft. Torn is so much better) And trust me, don't even get any ideas about this being a Mary- Sue; I tend to find perfect people boring.  
  
Well, that's about it for now, so review and keep an eye out for chapter two. (which should be up by next week - when I post chapter 28 of Cumulus academy) Ciao! 


	2. Chapter 2

Wow... didn't think I'd get so many reviews for one chapter. Thank you! ^ ^ If you really like this fic, please try to clue in some other people about it. I'd love to have a ton of readers.  
  
Disclaimer: would this be posted on "Fanfiction.net" if the original creators of Jak & Daxter and Jak 2 wrote it? ...Didn't think so.  
  
* * *  
  
The ceiling fan circled lazily overhead, doing little to cool down the cramped, messy office. One might not think about such a place being the scene for a fiction in which a strange woman was left half-dead in at the end of the last chapter, but life takes a funny turn on things sometimes.  
  
Kind of like the scenario taking place.  
  
Two elven-eared adults sat in that cluttered office: one with shoulder- length red hair and strange gray tattoos on his face, and the other with dark purple hair that was held out of her face with a tan bandanna, and a sparkplug earring. The woman with the purple hair was leaning back in the uncomfortable wooden chair, balancing it on its two rear feet while she put her booted feet on the desk - thankfully on a fairly clean section - pulled a cigarette from out of her leather jacket pocket, and put it in her mouth. With a flick of the wrist, a lighter appeared in her hand, upon both of which were worn, leather biking gloves, and another flick and soft 'click' provided her with a weak flame, which she used to light the cancer-stick. The lighter clicked shut and she placed it back in her pocket, all the while glaring at the rough-looking man who sat across the desk. The Krimzon Guard commander continued staring, and the silent standoff continued.  
  
It was the young woman, who eventually broke her deep violet eyes away from the fierce mental battle, which shattered the eerie quiet. "So... what is it you wanted?"  
  
Torn smirked at the defiant racer. When it came to pure stubbornness, few could beat the former underground leader, and he knew it. Finally leaning back in his seat, Torn decided to start off the conversation lightly and cautiously; move in too quickly and she might close herself off.  
  
"I heard you've made quite a name for yourself, Tarukane." The racer grimaced at the name, and tipped her chair back even farther. "Please, just Taru. I've come to associate my full first name with trouble."  
  
"Very well. To start things off, you've won almost every race you've been in, am I right?"  
  
Tarukane shrugged and took her cigarette out of her mouth for a moment before answering. "Yeah, so?"  
  
"Funny thing how you can barely pay for food when you seem to be winning so much money."  
  
"I don't accept charity."  
  
"That wasn't what I was talking about. If I'm not mistaken, this-" Torn tapped on the keyboard and turned the pivoting monitor to the young woman. "-belongs to you."  
  
On the screen was a simple checking account, except all the number values were in a bright red, which stood out brightly from the black background. Total value - over three million. Tarukane just stared, mouth open, the cigarette balancing on her lip. "H-how did you?"  
  
"That's the debt your father ran up, hm? Quite a spender he was, before he passed on. It's such a pity that he left all his assets to you in his will." The street racer continued to just stare in shock, which was all very good, but not what the experienced soldier was aiming for. Shock could be left until later, now was the time for business. "That's not all we have on our database." Another flurry of fingers over the keyboard, and this time a list appeared, continually scrolling downwards.  
  
"Twelve counts of theft, breaking and entering, charges for carrying a concealed weapon, defilation of historical landmarks, gambling, illegal racing; been busy lately Taru?" Torn smirked once again, as Tarukane could only stare at her police record, which was still scrolling downwards on its own, by the way. It took a good three minutes for it to reach the end, and all that time Torn just watched her surprise gradually turn into suspicion and anger.  
  
"What are you up to this time?" Ah, the age-old question. Now was his chance to drag her in, make an offer even the fickle Tarukane couldn't refuse. With a small flourish, he motioned to the screen where both Taru's police record and account were displayed (in smaller windows), and said, "I can make all this disappear if you just do one job for me."  
  
"Just one job?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And I'm good to go?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Somehow, this seemed too easy to the racer, who was silently mulling this over in her mind, unknowingly chewing the filter of her cigarette. Yep. This definitely wasn't like Torn. She might have only have met the commander once before, but that was enough to help her piece together a good assumption of the man. He was waiting for something, pulling her along until she couldn't back out, something that was much, much bigger than one stupid errand. All her instincts were telling her not to go forwards with this, so she trusted the same tactic that had gotten out of all these tough police-inspections before -  
  
"...can I get back to you on that?"  
  
-she stalled.  
  
It was through this fierce and stubborn conflict that Jak and Daxter sat outside the KG commander's office, waiting for their pay and playing a quick game of Black Jack. To tell the truth, not one word managed to float past the sturdy iron door. Nope, not one.  
  
It was the entire argument.  
  
One must never underestimate an ottsel's hearing - especially when one is trying to convince a well-known street-racer to work for oneself, through blackmail, no less. Daxter picked up every single syllable that had passed between the Krimzon Guard commander and their mystery woman, and Torn's methods seemed a bit sneakier than usual to him.  
  
And so, they continued on with their game of black jack, Jak losing horribly to his much more luck-inclined friend, and the two stubborn elves inside the room adjoining theirs continued on with their own little game. From the sound of it, it seemed that a conclusion was finally being reached - Daxter could hear the telltale 'clickt' as Torn unlatched the safety on his hand pistol.  
  
Tarukane finally stopped shooting back sarcastic reply after sarcastic reply long enough for a .33 mm bullet to whiz by her head, neatly shaving off a centimeter from the smoking tip of her cigarette. She merely stared at the severed end for a moment, then relaxed her chair back on all four feet. Sighing, she stamped out the cancer-stick and looked Torn straight in the eye, exhaling a stream of gray tobacco smoke.  
  
"I'll take the job."  
  
* * *  
  
Well, it is a bit short, but I was kind of stuck as what to write next. Besides, the sooner these are typed up, the sooner I can update, and the sooner you can read. Just don't forget to review, please. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own the Jak and Daxter games, or the characters. I do own Tarukane and the storyline.  
  
KKC: Wow... I didn't know this fic would be so widely accepted. Heh, here's to hoping I get at least forty reviews for this story *raises glass of Sprite*  
  
Grimoire: *muttering under breath* which would translate to at least two reviews per chapter.  
  
KKC: Well, at least it's not too hard a goal, after comparing it to Cumulus academy. ^-^  
  
Grimoire: Don't even mention that title.  
  
KKC: Well, I happen to be on a roll with that fic, so bug off.  
  
Grimoire: At least it'll be over soon...  
  
KKC: Not for another ten or so chapters, my dear muse.  
  
Grimoire: Dammit! .  
  
Oh, if only she had looked at the fine print before signing on.  
  
That was all that went through her head as Torn informed her of the details concluding this "job"; death wish was more like it. The Krimzon Guard commander, who held all the authority and power to clear her record and debt, wanted her to chase down a suspected serial killer. Oh, what joy, what rapture. What, did he also want her to stand on her head with her thumb up her ass and sing "Yankee Doodle" while jugging down a keg of Tabasco sauce?  
  
Maybe her criminal record wasn't worth all this - she was actually rather proud of it, as well as fond of her life - but her huge debt, over three million, couldn't be ignored. That was the entire reason she never had a place to live; stay in one place too long and the bank would come knocking at your door.  
  
But, it was the name of said killer that got her attention: Kai Morgan. The Kai Morgan; the Kai Morgan who owned at least twelve top-class racing bikes, the Kai Morgan that sponsored every race at the stadium, the Kai Morgan that had once, in desperation, hired her to race for him when his own rider got mixed up in a bar-room brawl and broke his leg. Tarukane's cigarette (she had lit a new one after Torn had fatally wounded the first, which had been well on its way out.) hung from her lip once more as she just looked at him in surprise, but she quickly regained her composure and, holding the smoking stick of doom in between her fingers, asked, "And why do you need me to carry this little project of yours out?"  
  
Torn looked a bit miffed at the interruption, and, as if deciding whether or not the hired woman was worth the trouble, merely stated, "It's not your place to ask."  
  
"No, really, I'm interested. If it was a good enough reason to almost kill me, then I think I should know." She smirked, enjoying the look on Torn's tattoed face.  
  
"Kai knows about every guard that works for me; it's how he's been able to slip away - through blackmail and bribery."  
  
"So you went looking for some fresh meat." A pair of purple eyes flickered up towards Torn, contempt welled up inside the narrowed pupils, and Taru took a drag from her cigarette before stomping it out and getting up from her seat. "Well, might as well get this hell-hole mission done with. Besides bringing home a red-handed corrupt businessman, want me to drag back a couple of politicians too? I hear they're two for one this year, with the baron gone." The wry joke fell on deaf ears; however, as the steel door of Torn's office flew open, slamming against the wall with a loud thunk, and another woman stormed in.  
  
Tarukane recognized her from the many newspaper articles that were always on display at the street carts. Red dreadlocks, green eyes, the exotic- looking face; no doubt, this was the new governor Ashelin. She had a fairly large pistol strapped to her hip, and looked ready to whip it out and shoot anyone who managed to get in her way. Ashelin stomped past Tarukane, almost shoving the racer out of the way as she ferociously glared at Torn, who seemed to be shrinking in his seat. "What the hell do you think you're doing, trusting a no-good, drug-addicted, higher-than-a-kite, criminal to catch Kai?!"  
  
Now that stung.  
  
In fact, Tarukane had never bothered to smoke anything other than cigarettes (which were probably more addicting and dangerous than anything out there anyways); and no good? Hell, she was the best damn racer in town - not that it made any difference to her bank credit. But a criminal, now that was below the belt.  
  
Deciding to make the good governess choke on her own words, Tarukane cleared her throat and asked, "Just what 'criminal' might you possibly be talking about, ma'am?" Ashelin whirled around, glaring at the racer with narrowed eyes. "Some old, down-and-out racer called Tarukane Lucas. Her father used to be a pretty important business man around here, until he suddenly showed up with a bullet through the head."  
  
Oh God, if only there were words to describe Torn's face at the moment. He looked about ready to either laugh or scream, furiously hoping Taru wouldn't try anything stupid with Ashelin in such close range. So far, the racer was keeping her cool, and Torn actually thought she would be able to pull off the innocent act until his boss left. But Ashelin couldn't stop there - oh no. Once she was steadily focused on something, it was a miracle that shook her from her cause.  
  
"In fact, some say Tarukane signed a deal with a rival company, took her own father out of the picture, then took over. But the deal bombed, and she took to the streets."  
  
There was no way Taru could resist the bait, the dialogue was just set up too perfectly. Any moment now and she would say it; mention that forbidden topic in Ashelin's presence.  
  
"Sounds kind of like how the Baron lost control, wouldn't you think?"  
  
Oh, holy Yakkow shit.  
  
Ashelin exploded, literally. In just a second the pistol was out of its holster, her finger hovering over the trigger, and it was shoved in Tarukane's face. From outside, both Jak and Daxter halted their game of BlackJack, letting the cards fall onto the table as they both rushed to the open door of Torn's office, ready to break up the seemingly unavoidable cat fight that was stirring between the two women.  
  
All silent; Tarukane had a good hunch that if anyone spoke now, she would end up with Ashelin's bullet embedding itself in her skull. The standoff continued on for a few tense moments, until, in a dangerously low voice, the governess asked, "And just who do you think you are?"  
  
"Nobody special, really. Just some old, down-and-out racer."  
  
God, if the tension in the room was suffocating before, now it practically crushed the life out of everyone present. All too aware of Ashelin's finger hovering over the trigger of her gun, Torn hastily tried to calm the two women down before they riddled his entire office, hell, the entire palace, with bullets.  
  
Something had to break; and that something was Daxter. The ottsel, totally ignoring Jak's pleading look to not interfere, boldly trotted forwards and jumped up on Torn's desk, positioning himself between the females. Slicking his bright orange fur with one gloved paw, he casually leaned against Tarukane's shoulder and, in an off-hand tone, mentioned, "So... I take it you two don't get along very well, do you?"  
  
The next moment has, for all historical purposes, to be recorded. For this moment was the first, and last time, the two radically different women actually agreed. In less time it had taken Ashelin to draw her pistol from its holster, the ottsel was backhanded across the desk, by both the governer and Taru. Rubbing his furry cheek and glaring, Daxter stumbled back to his feet and scurried back over to Jak, flipping both Tarukane and Ashelin the birdie once he was comfortably balanced on his compadre's shoulder.  
  
"Sheesh, forget I asked. Y'know, you two really need to learn how to communicate; you're conversationally inept."  
  
The ottsel's reply was a rather rude hand gesture from the racer; the likes of which made the middle finger pale in comparison. Ashelin merely gave a warning glance to Daxter, as did Torn and Jak, and the rodent cringed under their hard glares.  
  
The second hand on the clock ticked by in its constant circle, impossibly loud in the small room. But, as the elves inside soon realized, it wasn't a clock. Ashelin wheeled around; slipping the pistol back into its holster seconds before a Krimzon guard ran into the room, his facemask and most of the heavier armor off in the heat, tattooed brow sweating.  
  
"M-Ma'am! I just heard from a squadron F-7 that a cargo ship has been hijacked, and the criminals are holding the crew hostage!"  
  
Torn swore, angrily tapping his fingers on his cluttered desk; Ashelin ran out of his office, grabbing the young Guard by the shoulder and dragging him down the hall with her.  
  
"Torn, tell squad A-2 that I need them down at the docks pronto! I'll be waiting for them there."  
  
Torn was about to reply with a quick, "yes, ma'am!", but the governess had already gone. Within a matter of seconds, the sound of a Krimzon Guard tank engine could be heard revving up, and they silently watched as it flew up and away from the castle. As if still wary that his boss could hear him, Torn quietly relayed his orders.  
  
"Kai is looking for promising racers to win him money and respect, so I need you to get into his inner ring." With that, Torn tossed Taru a small electronic ID, with a false name, Taru's picture, and other essential data about her "past". With scorn, Tarukane read the name on the ID.  
  
"Traci Smith? What is this, the witness protection program?" Torn shrugged, and passed her a set of keys, which Taru greedily snatched from his hands. "I didn't come up with the name - and as far as I'm concerned, that's not my problem."  
  
"Still, Traci? Try and be bit more imaginative, why don't ya?"  
  
"Are you going to get this done, or are you going to gripe over a false name?" The KG commander's voice had an annoyed edge to it - most likely because the racer had been mouthing off to "her lady" Ashelin - and Taru meekly slipped the false ID into her pocket, along with the zoomer keys. "Consider me outta here."  
  
"Good. But, if you try to bail, and I'm serious about this, you can kiss that zoomer of yours we confiscated good-bye." Torn's face was totally serious, and there was no trace of sympathy among his tattooed brow. Taru inwardly cringed, Torn was not a person someone wanted to mess with, and humbly scurried out the office door, keys clutched in her hand. Daxter and Jak, until now wisely silent, merely watched her go; Jak turned to Torn with a questioning look in his blue eyes, but it seemed the commander had read Jak's mind. "Jak, follow her and tell me if she acts up."  
  
Daxter, still not quite over the insanity of the last time he had been following the street racer, jumped down from his spot on his elf-friend's shoulder. "What?! I've barely stopped losing my lunch from the first trip, and now you're sending me on another? I object!" The ottsel punched his fist into his hand, as if to strengthen the statement, but was answered with a glare from both Torn and Jak.  
  
"To tell the truth, I think it's a good idea. We don't know if we can really trust Taru; she isn't someone who'd do anything without some type of reward."  
  
"Et tu, Brutus?" Daxter looked up at his childhood friend, a tinge of betrayal slipping into his sarcastic comment. Jak apologetically smiled and hoisted the weasel onto his shoulder before nodding good-bye to Torn and walking out of the door, the ottsel sulking on his shoulder the entire time.  
  
As soon as the door shut, Torn collapsed into his chair, kicked his feet up on the desk, and took a healthy gulp of his coffee. The KG commander sighed, then radioed section A-2; after the squad had been reassigned, he leaned back and sighed. Finally, he could take a breather.  
  
"Captain, his grace Samos is here to see you!"  
  
...or not...  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
KKC: Erm... well, I'm sorry the update took a while. School got in the way, yet again... *sighs*  
  
Grimoire: Don't beat yourself up about it, KKC. Its an understandable reason.  
  
KKC: Really? *looks up at her muse hopefully* Y'mean it?  
  
Grimoire: Well, I actually liked the break, so take as long as you need. ^- ^  
  
KKC: -.- Gee, you're so kind. *turns to reader* can't you feel the love?  
  
Reader: o.0?  
  
KKC: Uh-huh... *Shrugs* Well, please review. Don't worry, the story will pick up soon, and I have the plot all planned out.  
  
Grimoire: Oh, you DO, do you? I haven't seen the story webs-  
  
KKC: *claps hand over Grimoire's mouth* *sweatdrops* Eh-heh... see 'ya later, folks! Ciao! 


End file.
